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Inishowen |
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The wine they praise in Paradise They make in Ponterey, The purple wine of Paradise, But we have better at the price ; It's wine they praise in Paradise, It's cider that they pray.
The wine they want in Paradise
They find in Plodder's End,
The apple wine of Hereford,
Of Hafod Hill and Hereford,
Where woods went down to Hereford,
And there I had a friend.
The soft feet of the blessed go In the soft western vales, The road the silent saints accord, The road from Heaven to Hereford, Where the apple wood of Hereford Goes all the way to Wales.
INISHOWEN
By William Maginn (1793-1842)
I care not a fig for a flagon of flip
Or a whistling can of rumbo ; But my tongue through whisky-punch will slip
As nimble as Hurlothrumbo. So put the spirits on the board,
And give the lemons a squeezer, And we'll mix a jorum, by the Lord !
That will make your worship sneeze, sir.
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